


The One Where Robin Has Bronchitis

by onthelasttrain



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/F, Fluff, Sick Fic, non binary hope swan-jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthelasttrain/pseuds/onthelasttrain
Summary: Sometimes, true love isn't always epic kisses, breaking curses, fairytale weddings and romantic dances.Sometimes it's pushing your girlfriend away from you because you have viral bronchitis but she has no sense of self-preservation and keeps trying to kiss you, knowing how contagious you are.
Relationships: Alice | Tilly/Robin | Margot, Robin | Margot & Hope Swan-Jones
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	The One Where Robin Has Bronchitis

**Author's Note:**

> So as I said in the tags, I headcanon Hope as growing up to be nonbinary and using she/they pronouns :)  
> Also I fudged the timeline because the finale can kiss my ass and so Hope is just a few years younger than Robin. And Gideon is here and he's Robin's friend/roommate.  
> Also the "Melody" I reference, for those who don't know, is Ariel's daughter.

Robin buries her face in her pillow as she hears the door close, Gideon leaving for work. On her bedside sit roughly five different kinds of medicine (she’s far too tired to give a real count) and a litre bottle of water, as well as a basin beside her bed despite knowing she won’t throw up. That’s what happens when her best friend-slash-roommate is an overprotective hypochondriac whose Mum Friend instincts kick into overdrive when someone is sick (especially when that someone is Robin, the girl he’s been looking out for since they were toddling around Storybrooke’s playpark together).

She lets out another cough, pressing her tissue to her mouth.

“You look like St Therese,” Hope says, casually as they can with five hairpins between their teeth. Since it’s entirely their fault Robin is in her tired, fevered, miserable state, Robin Facetimed them once she woke up to make them feel as guilty as possible. Now she’s curled up on one side, away from the harsh light of her window, her phone propped up by a stack of books and wearing the cat onesie she bought herself as an early Christmas present, all while huddled underneath her comforter.

“Who?” she asks.

“St Therese. You know, the French saint who died of coughing blood. Her last words in her diary were something like ‘wow there’s a lot of bubbly stuff on my mouth right now’. Or something.”

“Or something,” Robin agrees. “Anyway, I’m not coughing blood. I’m coughing mucus which is arguably worse.”

“What colour?”

“Hope!”

“What?” they sigh. “My dad said that you can tell a lot by the colour of your mucus.”

“Your dad grew up in the 1800s and wouldn’t know what antibiotics were if you threw them at his face. He probably threw little lavender bags at you when you got sick.”

“You know, technically you’re shit talking your future father-in-law there,” they remind her. Robin pulls a face at the camera as Hope slides another hairpin into their black locks before pulling them apart. “And for your information, it was rosemary.” They look down for a second, biting their lips like a nervous child, which in a lot of ways, Hope still is. Or at least in Robin’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Rob.”

“Don’t worry about it, H,” she replies before letting out another cough, making Hope flinch. “Just hope your date with Melody was worth it.”

“It was,” she replies, a pink blush on their pale cheeks. Robin giggles and looks beyond the phone screen to her bedroom door, where the scarf she lent Hope for her date is hanging on a hook. Hope swore up and down last Friday their bout of bronchitis was over and begged and pleaded (and admittedly, screamed a little) for their parents to let them go out with Melody that night for their two month anniversary. They had agreed, on one condition, Hope wrap up a warm as humanly possible. And since their scarf was lost in her Bermuda triangle of a bedroom, Robin had agreed to let Hope borrow one of hers, only after making Hope look her in the eye and swear they were better now. And they did.

And now she’s here.

“Was there a goodnight smooch?” she pries, giggling again. She’s pretty sure the fever is causing her to regress to a schoolgirl.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” they say coyly, only to have realisation slowly dawn on them. “Um… I’m just going to check up on her. See if she’s… you know…”

“Caught your disease?”

“It’s not my disease!” they squeak indignantly, standing up and putting their bag on their shoulder. “Anyways I have to go. Mom will arrest me if I’m late for class again.”

“Can she do that? Is that in her jurisdiction?”

“No idea and I don’t want to find out,” they answer. “How do I look?” They gesture to their outfit; black and pink hair tucked into a deliberately messy braid, graphic t-shirt and paint-splattered denim dungarees with a plaid shirt over it. Complete with winged eyeliner and dark lipstick.

“Gorgeous,” she tells them. “Gorgeous and gay.”

“That’s the look I was going for. Anyway, chug orange juice and go to sleep. Because you look like shit and I don’t want you to look like that. I’ll see you later, Rob.”

“See you, Hopey.” Hope clicks off the call and the screen goes black. Robin puts her phone to the side, groaning as another coughing fit makes her bed shake and brings up more mucus. Green again. Lovely. She pulls the blankets tighter around herself, pressing her face into her pillow and begging Zeus (who she knows is real, god damn it) to just either fix her messed up body or let her go the hell to sleep.

She hates being sick. She always hated it. When she was younger her mum had to wrestle her from the front door, Robin all dressed in her school uniform and insisting she was going despite her chicken pox/vomiting/fever/whatever was wrong with her this time. She can think up a million and one deep explanations for it or she can be blunt and honest; it’s boring. Storybrooke even on a good day, as much as she loves it, is boring with its small town and days planned out to the second, two restaurants, one bar and one nightclub that barely qualifies as a club. But when she’s sick and confined to her bed, she finds herself desperate for anything to set her free, even just to stand in the woods and shoot arrows at a tree for half an hour.

When it’s clear sleep isn’t coming, she pushes herself out of the bed, her comforter still wrapped around her shoulders like her brother with his cape in the Enchanted Forest. She stuffs as many of the pills and medicine in the pocket of her onsie as she can before grabbing her water and making her way to the living room. She had planned to get a glass of juice from the fridge as well, but all she can do is collapse onto the couch and pant, the short walk from her bedroom to the living room having used up what little energy she had.

She grabs the remote and whacks on Netflix while chugging her water. Hopefully, a season or three of Brooklyn Nine Nine can distract her from herself.

It’s three hours later when Alice comes in and by then she’s feeling at least fifty percent worse. Her chest is aching, her throat is raw from coughing and despite the fact that she’s only gotten up once to get the carton of orange juice from the fridge (the glasses are up too high and getting one would involve breaking her blanket cocoon) and refill her water, she’s spent the last half an hour trying to catch her breath. In short, she’s miserable, and not even the human ball of sunshine she calls a girlfriend can make her feel better.

“Good afternoon, the beautiful light of my life, how are we feeling today?”

“I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” She plops down the plastic bag on the sofa and takes out her so-called remedies. “I brought you chocolate… I brought you headache pills… oh, and Hope told me to get you this.” She chucks a bottle of something blue, wincing a little when it hits her face. “Sorry, my love.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “My reflexes aren’t great right now.” She takes a look at the bottle, grateful when she sees Hope told Alice to buy her a smoothie and not some Enchanted Forest cure-all made from tree bark and frogs or something. “Thanks, Al.” Alice settles herself on the couch beside her, kicking off her boots and tucking her legs up underneath her. “How goes the dog shelter?”

After the whole curse business was over with, it wasn’t long before Alice realised she needed a new job. For one thing, real estate in Seattle is a bitch even when it’s a cursed neighbourhood and your landlord is Michael Banks, but there was more. Alice wasn’t a fan of having nothing to do, and she wasn’t used to it either. Her dad had kept her days in the tower choc-a-bloc full of activities (if her old diary is anything to go by, she barely had time to breathe). And despite how good she was at the beignet truck; that was only part time and it wasn’t capturing her imagination like Sheriffing did for Emma or teaching did for Snow. So when she saw an advert for a vacancy at a dog shelter, who was she to say no?

“Oh, it’s fun,” Alice says. “Lots of little puppers. We think Matilda’s nearly ready to give birth.”

“No way,” she says, taking a drink of the smoothie. Nectar of the gods, she thinks. “I remember when she first got pregnant. And you still don’t know who the father is?”

“Nope. She’s a frisky girl is our Matilda.” Robin chuckles and plays with her comforter. Alice turns to her, giving her the big, sad eyes she thinks only Alice is capable of, somehow wise beyond her years and innocently childlike at the same time. “How have you been, love?”

“Fine,” she sighs fondly, taking her girlfriend’s outstretched hand. “I sent some e-mails, I watched TV, I’ve been staying hydrated, I scolded Hope for making me sick-”

“Oh it’s not her fault,” she tells her. “Not really.”

“Uh, she lied and said she was better and then put my scarf around her bacteria ridden neck,” she points out. “I think that makes it her fault. Speaking of, have you heard from Melody at all today?”

“Melody as in Hope’s girlfriend, Melody?” Robin nods. “Can’t say that I have, why?”

“Because if our little Hopey planted one on her then the little mermaid probably has what I have.” She lets out another cough as if to prove her point. Thanks, universe, she thinks.

“You should really stop meddling in her love life,” Alice points out, opening the chocolate she’s pretty sure was meant for Robin and breaking a square off for herself. She then sheepishly hands her the bar and Robin takes it, unsure if she should be eating chocolate in her condition but hey, can’t hurt more than the bronchitis already does.

“I don’t meddle,” she says through two squares. “I’m just… you know… giving guidance.”

“Of course you are, my darling,” she says. “Now why don’t I make you some tea?”

“Ugh, please,” she sighs, not realising how much she wanted a cup until Alice had mentioned it. “Honey in it?”

“Anything for my honey.”

Not five minutes later they’re on the couch together, Alice pressed into Robin’s side. She feels kind of bad for not putting her arm around her, but again, that would involve breaking her blanket cocoon and she’s just not up for that. She can’t even hold her hand since both of hers are stuck inside the blanket and wrapped around her mug of tea.

If there’s an award for worst girlfriend ever, she wouldn’t win it per say, but she’d be a contender for sure.

Alice doesn’t seem to mind though. Not when she’s pressing kisses along her blanket-covered arms and shoulder and runs her fingers through her hair. Combined with Robin’s own illness-induced exhaustion, it’s almost enough to send her to sleep right on that sofa. Alice must have picked up on that, because she feels her lips, gentle and delicate, against her cheekbone and for a moment it’s nice.

And then it’s not.

“Woah, woah, wait,” she says, half wriggling away from her. Alice draws away quickly, her blue eyes wide, and if Robin wasn’t confined within a blanket, she’d kick herself. Their joint curse may be broken, but that doesn’t mean that the after-effects of what Gothel did to her father’s heart doesn’t hang around Alice and bleed into every other relationship she has. Robin wastes no time in pulling her hand out of the blanket and grasping Alice’s softly and gently squeezing it. “Hey, hey it’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she replies, a telltale flame of anxiety in her eyes. Robin’s thumb moves in soothing circles on the back of her hand, something that tends to bring Alice back to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Alice,” Robin interrupts, caressing her cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s just… this is crazy contagious, babe. I don’t want you to catch it.” Alice’s bad mood breaks immediately, her normal, crazy, wonderful smile gracing her face and Robin can breathe.

“Well you know, my love,” she begins, walking her fingers up her arm. “All that time in the tower gave me a wonderful immune system.”

“Did it?” she asks. “I’m not sure that’s how it works…”

“It is,” she says, resting her chin on Robin’s shoulder and looking up at her, all big sparkling eyes that scream “butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth”. Robin wonders how many times Rogers had to deal with those eyes.

“Maybe. But I don’t want to risk you getting sick. Okay babe?” And that’s what makes Alice nod and settle for resting her cheek on Robin’s shoulder, playing with her fingers gently, linking and unlinking them. Robin can’t stop a small noise of contentment in the back of her throat as she leans against the sofa, maybe, hopefully, finally getting that sleep she’s been craving all day.

Until Alice kisses her cheek again. Exhausted as she is, she thinks (hopes) that it’s a hallucination brought on my her drugged up, over-tired mind, until that stupid girl she’s in love with kisses her again, higher up this time, landing on her cheekbone.

“Alice!” she groans, opening one eye. Alice smiles bright as the sun and innocent as a rose. It’s adorable and it makes her briefly forget what she was going to say. Briefly. “Stop.” Her girlfriend pouts as Robin presses a finger to her cheek and pushes her back. “I’m contagious.”

“I’m sure you’re not, Nobin,” she says, rubbing her arm. “And maybe I won’t mind…” Her fingers crawl up Robin’s arm like a spider and before her muddled brain can register what’s happened, Alice kisses both her cheeks and manages to sneak a peck on her lips before Robin slaps her face away.

“No,” she orders sternly, poking Alice in the chest. “Or you’ll get sick too and I am not dealing with you being sick.”

“What’s wrong with me being sick?” she asks indignantly.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking a sip of her smoothie and neglecting to mention the time Alice got the flu and begged Robin to call the hospital, convinced she was dying. It was only her own lack of strength that stopped her from walking there herself. She turns on her side and looks up at her girlfriend, in all her unruly hair, wide eyed goofy grinned glory. Everything she loves. “Al… please. I just don’t want you to catch this. It’s not fun. Believe me.” She strokes a stray lock of hair away from her face and pokes at the dimple in her cheek. “As much as it is taking care of you, I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Her face softens and she leans into Robin’s touch. “Okay, babe?”

“Okay, my love,” she responds, tickling the inside of Robin’s hand with kisses. “Now come her, let me cuddle the nasty bronchitis.” Robin nestles her head into her favourite pillow (Alice’s lap) and sighs as Alice begins gentle running her fingers through her hair. She feels herself slipping further and further away, the sleep she’s been desperately craving finally coming as the sound from the TV fades to white noise. She makes a mental note to thank Alice for coming over to see her.

If she’s not sick by next week.

Robin winces as Alice lets out another hacking cough, followed by a long, pained groan. She sounds vaguely like a wounded animal. A wounded bunny. Robin came over the minute Alice called to cancel their date tonight, letting her dad go off to his shift at the station. She tied Alice’s hair back and even came prepared, giving her the hoodie she just loves stealing before making tea and switching on the TV for her.

She’s going to be such a great wife, she thinks proudly.

“So you’ll never guess who has bronchitis,” she says into the phone teasingly, sitting on the edge of the couch, her phone wedged between her shoulder.

“Okay let me guess,” Hope says on the other end. Of course she called Hope the second she found out what Alice had. “Could it be your girlfriend who, despite repeated warnings that you were a contagious little bitch, smooched your face like there was no tomorrow?”

“I do not have bronchitis!” Alice snaps weakly, burying herself under the blanket. “It’s just a little cold-”

Robin turns her phone on speaker just in time for Alice’s bi-hourly coughing fit, complete with green mucus staining the tissues.

“Yeah that sounds like bronchitis, babe,” Hope says on the other end of the phone. “I would know. I started this whole debacle.”

“Oh speaking of, how’s Melody?” Alice asks, half sarcastic. Robin clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Papa said he saw your Ariel at the pharmacy yesterday.”

“Melody’s awesome,” Hope says flatly. “Melody’s doing great. Don’t worry about Melody. Anywho I have to go. Lacrosse practice.”

“Knock them dead!” Alice tells them between coughs.

“Do not knock anybody dead,” Robin says sternly. “See you later.”

“Bye. Tell your girlfriend she’s a dumb lesbian.” Robin laughs as the dial tone rings in her ear.

“Hope says you’re a dumb lesbian,” she says as she sits down beside Alice. Alice curls up tighter under her blanket, her face barely peeking out.

“Hope’s the dumbest lesbain,” she says, about as mean-spirited as a kitten eating a lollipop. She groans again, so high and so long that it borders on wining, and Robin tries and fails not to find it adorable. Even if the saddened look on her face does tear at her heart.

“Okay, come here. Come to Robin.” Alice shifts and shimmies in her blanket burrito until she’s semi-upright, enough at least for Robin to cuddle her and kiss the fabric of her hood (not her face, as she knows). Her bony shoulders poke against Robin’s chest as she tries to get comfortable and her hand pokes out of the sleeve to take hers.

“You were right,” Alice admits, playing with Robin’s fingers. “I should have left you alone.”

“Well… not leave me alone, per say,” she replies, nuzzling into her head, feeling the wild mane beneath her hoodie. “Having you around sure helped me get better. And who else was going to make me tea and bring me chocolate?” She feels Alice’s smile, despite her burrowing so far into her jumper that only her eyes are visible.

“Nevertheless,” she begins, her voice scratchy and teetering on sleep. “I promise I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“No you won’t,” Robin says fondly, kissing the tip of her finger and tapping it on Alice’s nose. Her face scrunches up and her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders drop and Robin knows she’s fast asleep by now, but that doesn’t stop her talking. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make a happy writer and a happy writer makes fics and fics make a happy fandom.


End file.
